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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596909">Vulnerabilities</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DurasteelSlagger/pseuds/DurasteelSlagger'>DurasteelSlagger</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cave, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, PWP, fightingasforeplay, protoform, stream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:13:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DurasteelSlagger/pseuds/DurasteelSlagger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens on an abandoned Quint fuel outpost stays on an abandoned Quint fuel outpost.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Megatron/Optimus Prime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Vulnerabilities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Partially inspired by Space Liquid's House Divided (https://archiveofourown.org/works/3224156) and Maunakea's Wayment (https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159265).  SO GOOD. GIVE EM A READ IF YOU HAVEN'T. </p><p> </p><p>(My first fanfic. So psyched to be part of this amazing fandom &lt;3.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Optimus isn’t doing well in this fight against Megatron. </p><p>He isn’t sure if it’s the shock of the Quints ripping the Matrix from his chest, the tainted energon he’d drunk earlier, or the long deprivations of his captivity and escape.</p><p>His processor is moving slowly, sluggish, and he’s having trouble focusing his optics.</p><p>His intakes cycle wildly: his temperature is too high and the cooling system can’t keep up. </p><p>If it weren't for the fact that he’d grown accustomed to the sheer rhythm of fighting Megatron over the last vorn (jab, cross, weave under Megatron’s lead hook, respond with another cross) he’d have been slagged five times over now. </p><p>Instead, he’s barely holding it together, barely able to keep his servos raised and protecting his helm. </p><p>Megatron is in incomparably better shape than he is, looking as if he’s just stepped off of the Destroyer. The incongruity of the Decepticon leader on a nameless Quintesson fuel outpost adds to Op’s confusion, but then hadn’t the Quints attacked the ‘Cons at the same time they’d isolated Optimus on COROT-7?</p><p>Jab, cross, sweep the teep. </p><p>Optimus can’t do much more. He sees, as if underwater, Megatron step forwards, his lead foot landing at an angle to add torque to his kick, as precise as a dancer. </p><p>Optimus knows that savage kick too well— it has broken his chest struts 53 times, his processor tells him unhelpfully. </p><p>His knee comes up to block, but at the last moment, Megatron swivels, swinging his pede down and back up, straight into Optimus' chest, propelling him backwards into the cave wall. </p><p>It feels like the wall shattered his backplate: it’s made of something harder than his armor. Corundum? Optimus thought he’d seen scapolite in the karst in the last cycle. </p><p>No time for that: Megatron is moving into him so quickly that his optics are missing the movements, everything blurring and multiplying. </p><p>He’s done, he knows, and he can’t even feel sorry that he’ll be ended by Megatron, who has been his enemy for so long, reliable in his hostility. Optimus would rather it be Megs than bad energon, although technically it will be a combination of the two. </p><p>But his thoughts are swirling away now: Optimus is pretty sure his processor is melting. Visuals drop away, then sounds, until all that is left are the oldest of his senses: scent, texture and EM field. </p><p>Those few senses fill with Megatron— </p><p>— Megatron, pressed up against him, the texture of his armour bizarrely cool (Optimus must be overheating, he realizes, sickened) —  </p><p>— Megatron unspooling his grapples with more care than Optimus would have expected— </p><p>— the scent of Megatron, like metal and paint thinner— </p><p>— the hot rust and burnt rubber smell of Optimus’ own overheating— </p><p>— Megatron’s EM field washing over Optimus, disturbed, reminiscent of those purple thunderstorms on earth— </p><p>And then, with a pop, Optimus feels his chest plate become unlatched. The majority of his senses come rushing back, a rush of cool air on his thoracic circuitry.  </p><p>He can't quite see Megatron’s faceplate because of their size difference, even though he has been lifted to close to faceplate-to-faceplate, his grapples hooked on a rocky outcropping above him.</p><p>The outcropping is covered in organic refuse, Optimus registers, yuck, and he’s hanging a good ten meters away from the floor, not so far that he’d hurt himself falling or jumping—  </p><p>—but Megatron’s hands are skimming over his body, loosening the armor along his sides and back, detaching them and doing Primus knows what with them— </p><p>— and if all of his armour is removed Optimus will injure himself by jumping down— </p><p>— and Optimus’ EM field is lashing out, panicking—</p><p>— but the removal of each piece is helping his invents come easier, and besides, Megatron’s field doesn’t have the deep murderous rage Optimus is used to—</p><p>— so maybe it will be alright and Optimus needn’t struggle too hard, he can't struggle hard anyways like this, he’s struggling more out of principle than anything— </p><p>and then Megatron has stripped him of all his armor, even on his pedes.</p><p>Optimus shudders. The part of his thoracic cavity that held the Matrix is still bleeding energon. There are at least two major energon lines that have been punctured by the Quints’ lackadaisical attempt at “surgery.” He has bled purple streaks on Megatron’s chest armour, on the swirls he’d always thought were quite lovely. </p><p>His panic is getting harder to manage. </p><p>Optimus struggles for a bit against gravity and the servos anchoring his hips against the wall.</p><p>It does nothing, as expected, but paradoxically it makes him feel better as he’d been expecting Megatron to retaliate and the larger mech doesn’t. </p><p>Megs sounds different. The sounds of his in- and ex-vents normally aren’t audible, but Optimus hears them now. </p><p>Has Megatron gotten hurt? Optimus dismisses the idea that he has managed to hurt him during their fight out of servo.  </p><p>Then his more sensitive tactile sensors kick in and Optimus realizes: Megatron is blowing air over him, the climate-controlled air from his internal systems.</p><p>It feels good—  can Megatron be doing a good thing for him? Optimus, his enemy? But then why hadn’t Megatron proposed an alliance? </p><p>The cool air currents are getting lower, Optimus realizes, swirling around his pedes, although Megatron sends every fifth ex vent back up to Optimus' struggling intakes. </p><p>Finally, Optimus notices that the harsh rattling sound of his own breathing has vanished and he starts to be able to take internal readings again: his temperature is way out of operable range.</p><p>Megatron lifts Optimus off the rock outcropping leaving his servos tied, and heaves him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. </p><p>Optimus is transported to the stream he’d noticed in the last cycle, the clear fluid that had reminded him of Earth’s water.</p><p>In one movement, Optimus is lifted off the shoulder and pressed into the stream bed. </p><p>Optimus realizes he’s screaming the moment he hits the water and his intakes shut down automatically. The fluid is COLD, cold enough that he might worry about his joints locking up, if the temperature weren’t such a blessed relief against his sensory points. </p><p>His body is all protoform without the armor, he realizes, unable to muster the mental energy to feel embarrassed, and it’s lighter than what he is used to, the fluid dense enough that Optimus feels his arms and legs floating upwards, the stream tugging him inexorably forwards. It must drain somewhere out of the dormant volcano that formed the cave he is in: the volcano covered in dust and ice, camouflaging into the rest of the planetoid. </p><p>Megatron’s servo holds him down against the current, covering almost the whole of his chest, preventing the fluid from messing with the un-covered nerve endings in the gap where the Matrix had been. </p><p>A barely coherent thought: is Megatron trying to kill him, and if so doesn’t he know that bots can't be killed this way? Optimus has no need for air other than using it to cool his internal systems, and the fluid is doing that. </p><p>Optimus involuntarily relaxes.</p><p>He watches the fluid streak past him. Megatron’s optics gleam scarlet above, dim in the light in the cave.</p><p>Optimus registers sounds over the flow of the fluid— several loud thumps, what could be a roar. Have the Quintessons discovered Optimus’ escape so soon? He’d destroyed their pirate vessel— could another vessel have arrived so soon? </p><p> Megatron’s servo holds him loosely now, fluid dripping into his thoracic cavity. </p><p>Optimus shudders, relieved his spark is safe. </p><p>There’s a scraping, then Megatron’s pedes splash through the fluid. </p><p>A brief darkness as Optimus loses sight of the red glow of Megatron’s optics. </p><p>Then a rock is pressing him into the stream bed, heavy.</p><p>Optimus squawks, insulted, though of course Megatron can't hear him. The scarlet glow recedes. The sound of metal crashing into metal vibrates the fluid.</p><p>It sounds like a fight. There’s a break of light above him, and Optimus' higher level processing is coming back online. It’s a shock to have processing back: Optimus realizes that he must have been operating in safe mode, too overheated for most functions, for at least a couple cycles. </p><p>The noise almost sounds like Grimlock, but it’s far likelier it’s a Quintesson, and where there is one more follow. Is Megatron fighting inside the cave or outside? The current pulls at Optimus, unrelenting. </p><p>Op’s processor begins showing internal temperatures within survivable parameters. He needs to get out of the fluid to see what is going on, to fight or escape. </p><p>He tries to budge the rock anchoring him with his servos. </p><p>He can’t move it. Planting his pedes in the stream bed and arching his body upwards places the rock more in the current. This wiggles it, but to his dismay, Optimus finds that the moment the rock budges the current nearly sweeps him away. Not knowing where or even if the stream lets out, Optimus resigns himself to staying where he is, at least until he is certain he has no other choice. He’ll handle what he can when he can. </p><p>He wonders if Megatron is offline. Unthinkable thing. But his answer comes by the glow of optics growing brighter towards him. </p><p>Once more, servos splash in the stream, one grabbing Optimus by the nape of his neck and painfully squeezing, the other brushing off the rock as if it’s nothing. </p><p>Optimus is heaved into the cave.</p><p>“Ready to help, now, Prime?” says Megatron. The larger mech unties his grapples and Optimus massages his wrists. </p><p>Optimus looks around, blinking the last of the fluid out of his optics. Light streams in the cave entrance from the outpost’s two moons, twice as powerful as Earth’s one sun. A massive heaped shape casts shadow. </p><p>“Grimlock!” gasps Optimus, surging forwards, but even as he moves he becomes aware that it isn’t Grimlock— the shape is too large, the proportions all wrong. </p><p>“No,” says Megatron. He kicks the cyber-reptilian face: tentacles stream from its open maw. “There is a striking resemblance, though. Perhaps we and the Quints shared an ancestor at one point. They’ve cyber-formed this little dwarf planet, or Quint-formed it, I should say.”</p><p>“Yes,” says Optimus faintly. “Yes, I noticed, the cave— it’s mostly ice and dust and igneous rocks, but some of it is techno-organic— ” he breaks off. </p><p>His panic is back now. His protoform is bare against the air. Without his armour he can be killed with a rock and he knows Megatron knows it. In fact, Optimus isn’t sure if he’s ever been this vulnerable.  Ratchet has removed a few of his pieces once or twice for repairs, but never the whole thing. </p><p>Megatron grunts, oblivious to his panic or choosing to ignore it. “Come on, Prime. The carcass will attract scavengers soon, if they haven’t already been enticed by the noise we made. We’ll need to block the cave entrance before nightfall. Does this cavity go any further, do you know?” </p><p>“No,” says Optimus, remembering. “There’s a crack in the back left wall, but I’m sure we’ll—”  he stumbles, the ground cutting into the protoform on his pedes. “I'm sure there will be no problems with whatever thing is small enough to crawl through there.” </p><p>Megatron grunts again in acknowledgement. A cloud of the flying cybertronic organisms flit above the cave entrance. </p><p>Optimus scours around, selects a boulder and rolls it to the entrance. The silence of the outpost is oppressive. His captors hadn’t been pleased about having to land there, which makes sense because the planetoid is overgrown with hostile cyber-organics. They’d been even less pleased once Optimus had escaped his restraints and begun picking them off.</p><p>“What happened to you, by the way? I don’t think I’ve seen you this fragged up since Starscream hit you with that vorpal cannon.” Megatron laughs. “I’ll get the big ones. Concentrate on scanning the ‘toid and filling the cracks.”</p><p>Optimus grits his teeth. He feels exposed without his armour. He glances back into the cave; it is nowhere to be seen. Has Megatron washed it down the stream? </p><p>“They found me on a solo mission to COROT-7.”</p><p>Optimus involuntarily scowls because he knows that Megatron is going to take a jab at him for taking a solo mission. He doesn’t care what Megatron thinks. He doesn’t. </p><p>But Megatron doesn’t say anything. “Galactic Council sold you out?”</p><p>“Not sure. The Quints didn’t act like they’d known I was gonna be there. Seemed like pirates. I don’t think they were even aware of who I am.” They knew enough to take the Matrix, though, Optimus thinks to himself. </p><p>Megatron lugs quartzite over to make a defensive barrier in silence. His armour is stippled with small cracks, Optimus sees now, and one of his legs doesn’t seem to be working. Op reluctantly fills the silence. </p><p>“Quints didn’t seem to know about mass shifting. Caught them unawares when they stopped to fuel up. Made a break for it.”</p><p>“I did much the same, except on one of their military ships. Except— let me guess— you mass-shifted smaller, didn’t you?” </p><p>“Yes,” says Optimus. </p><p>“Hah! Yes, they also used flexi-restraints on me. But I went bigger.” Megatron’s optics have a manic gleam. “They must not be able to mass-shift, themselves. Downside of being part organic. Revolting.”</p><p>“Great,” says Optimus. “So we can expect the entire fleet to come looking for you?” His scans haven’t revealed any Quintesson forms or anything around the planetoid, but his systems are still compromised. </p><p>“Not for at least a kilocycle.” Megatron laughs again. “I blew up their ship before I left. And the ‘Cons had a little surprise planned for them, before the Council betrayed me. I don’t suppose the pirate-vessel they brought you on is intact?”</p><p>“No,” says Optimus, full of remorse. “No, one of them blew it up before I could get to him.” </p><p>“I see.”</p><p>The cave entrance is two-thirds blocked and one of the moons is setting. “You better get in before you’re not able to fit anymore. I’ll pass you rocks.”</p><p>Megatron snorts, but steps inside. Optimus considers fleeing, but the Quints shattered his T-Cog, and he doesn’t like his chances unarmored on their techno-organic outpost. And Megatron is in disturbingly good condition, good enough to catch him, easily. Optimus recalls being lifted and dangled from the outcropping, his systems heating despite themselves. </p><p>A flying creature dips to scrabble at the gaping Matrix-shaped hole in his chest. Optimus slaps it away with more force than necessary. He’d eaten one of the things last cycle and he suspects it carried a virus that made him overheat. Even now he’s finding it harder and harder to in-vent.  </p><p>“Anyone within your comms range?” he asks. </p><p>“Not in this aft-end of the universe,” Megatron sneers. “That’s good enough for now.” </p><p>Optimus clambers over the rocks and into their shelter. He’s even smaller than usual, standing beside Megatron without his armour. </p><p>“How will you get out?” </p><p>Megatron snorts again. Optimus narrows his optics. His Decepticon counterpart is in way too good of a mood, considering he is stranded on a hostile planet with, Optimus flatters himself, one of his oldest enemies. </p><p>Optimus' own processor can’t even calculate chances of getting off-planet online. Then again, his HUD is telling him that his temperatures are rapidly climbing again. Perhaps his processor is glitched.</p><p>The bat-things must have been very poisonous. </p><p>“Where’s my armour?” Optimus asks.</p><p>Megatron pokes at the dead dino-esson, looking for an energon line. He straightens and Optimus feels his gaze, scalding. He flushes: aware that Megs is reading him in infrared and knows that his temperatures are moving above the safe range again. </p><p>Megatron passes Op his armour from his subspace without comment, although his good mood seems to have evaporated. </p><p>“What’s your fuel at?” </p><p>“What, are we allies now?” asked Optimus frostily. </p><p>Megatron rolls his eyes. “I propose a cease-fire until such time as we leave the planetoid. Do you accept?”</p><p>Optimus is beginning to feel guilty for his behaviour. Beginning to. “I accept.” </p><p>“Great,” says Megatron flatly. “What’s your fuel at?”</p><p>“Two-percent,” says Optimus. “How do we know that this thing isn’t toxic?” </p><p>“Unlike some mechs, my processor is working fine.” Optimus blinks as the chemical composition of the dino-esson’s energon is commed to him. He didn’t know Megatron had his comm number. </p><p> Megatron passes him an Earth jerry can from his subspace. It’s half-full. Optimus drinks, not realizing how desperate he is for energon until his glossa makes contact with it. It’s almost disturbing how not upset he is about taking energon from Megatron. </p><p>“Why did you attack me when we met? You could’ve proposed a truce.” Before smashing me into a wall of pure feldspar. Megatron snorts again in what Optimus is realizing is his version of laughter.</p><p>“I did. You swung at me.”</p><p>Oh. Optimus does remember Megatron growling threateningly at him, but his processor probably categorizes most of what Megatron says to him as a threatening growl. Op’s temperature is rising, and with it, his irritation and panic. The cracks on Megatron’s armour move in and out of focus. Optimus wants to touch them. </p><p>Megatron ignores him, tearing into the dino-esson. Energon splatters his torso. </p><p>His own energon finished, Optimus considers his next move. </p><p>There’s really only one option. </p><p>He carefully strips off his armour, piling it a good distance away from Megatron, not that that will make a difference if the larger mech decides to tamper with it. He considers asking Megatron for help unlatching his backplate but can’t bring himself to do it. </p><p>His strength returning as his internals cool, Optimus grabs a rock, the same one as before, and lays himself down in the stream, anchored against the current. He lets the fluid do its work. </p><p>	***</p><p>When he leaves the stream, Optimus is feeling better than he has in several decacyles. His tank is full and his temperature has lowered itself to optimal temperatures, the last of the tainted energy purged from his system. The place where the Matrix had been hurts anew, as if part of Optimus has been ripped away and not just a storehouse of knowledge and experience, the life forces of his predecessors. </p><p>He feels physically and spiritually hollow, but his armour is untouched where he left it.</p><p>Megatron leans against a corundum outcropping. The dino-esson has been demolished. Optimus isn’t sure how Megatron can process non-refined energon, but he doesn't seem to be having problems. </p><p>Megatron catches Optimus looking and his gaze flares brighter: scarlet, like familiar stars. Optimus almost feels rather than sees Megatron look him up and down. His optics burn a deeper red. </p><p>Optimus flushes, fans whirring, but it’s a nice heat, a non-threatening one deep in his core. Megatron doesn’t move and Optimus burns with realization and embarrassment. </p><p>He’d stripped himself of everything, including his pelvic armour, and he is exposed. </p><p>His spike is tucked away, but his valve is out and… reacting, perhaps due to being within good conditions for the first time in several decacycles. </p><p>Optimus glances back towards his armour, trying to spot his pelvic plate. </p><p>His faceplate is hot— but why should he be embarrassed about making Megatron feel uncomfortable? Does Megatron even experience discomfort as an emotion? And hasn’t Megatron made him feel uncomfortable countless times over the past vorn, not to mention far worse? </p><p>It’s the principle, Optimus tells himself. When he glances back, Megatron is moving towards him, glacially slowly. </p><p>“Don’t,” the bigger mech says. “You’ll be cooler without it.” His field brims with amusement and, well, something that is definitely not amusement. </p><p>Optimus shudders, despite himself. Megatron is aroused? Megatron is aroused. </p><p>And for whatever reason— whether it’s the stress of being on an alien planet, or Megatron’s display of care for Optimus' function— which was only a tactical move, Optimus reminds himself, the chances of his escape off-planet are significantly increased with Optimus' help—<br/>
Optimus'  processor is miscategorizing him as an ally. </p><p>And Optimus wants, he wants he wants he wants.</p><p>Megatron comes abreast of him. </p><p>One of his servos strokes Op’s finial— the broken one. The other traces gentle designs up and down his back. The larger mech’s servos are delightfully cool. </p><p>Optimus shivers. </p><p>Megatron brings his face closer to Optimus. </p><p>“Yes?” He asks, tapping at Optimus' faceplate. Optimus spasms. He’s always hated kissing. But maybe— </p><p>“Yes,” he decides. </p><p>His faceplate withdraws. Megatron’s breath ghosts over his face, smelling faintly of energon and Varsol and two-stroke exhaust, smelling like clean, healthy Cybertronian. Optimus’ fans increase. He feels a slight edge of panic, then Megatron’s lips meet his and he blows air-conditioned exvents down his throat.</p><p>Optimus trembles with pleasure, his internals delightfully cold. </p><p>He can't help it: he moans into Megatron’s mouth, and the larger mech shudders, both his servos smoothing down Optimus' backplate, the one Optimus hasn’t been able to remove. Optimus feels himself be lifted, the wall meeting his back. </p><p>Megatron’s servo smooths its way up Optimus’ arms, pressing his servos into the wall. </p><p>He mouths and bites at the cables at Optimus' throat and Op cries out, arching into the touch. It feels like nothing he’s experienced before. His protoform is sensitive. </p><p>“Where did you learn that thing? About taking off the armour to avoid a system failure,” he gasps out.  Megatron shrugs. </p><p>“During my slave coding days. Everything from then is a bit fuzzy.”</p><p>“Of course,” says Optimus. “The crimes of the Senate.” </p><p>“Somehow, I don’t feel like talking about that right now,” Megatron growls, working his way lower. His ex-vents flow over Optimus' sensors, calming. His glossa reaches out, licks at a spot on Optimus' thighs.</p><p>Optimus yelps. “Megatron!” </p><p>“Yes?” Megatron’s claw tips are back to tracing designs on his legs this time. It’s earth-shatteringly good. Optimus has to take several in-vents before he can continue.</p><p>“I can’t— what about Cybertron—” </p><p>Megatron straightens with a snarl that sounds very much like it is partly groaned to Optimus' audials. </p><p>“What about Cybertron?”</p><p>“We can’t… We can’t do this.” says Optimus. “We’re on opposite sides of the war.” We nearly are the opposite sides, he doesn’t add. </p><p>“Are you suggesting hate-fragging?” Meagtron asks. He sounds hopeful. </p><p>“No! I— definitely not.” Optimus’ valve clenches and gushes, and Megs laughs. </p><p>“Well. I hear your concerns.”  He straightens and takes two steps backwards. </p><p>Optimus thanks Primus that Megatron stopped doing what he was doing, even though his protoform cries out at the lack of sensation. </p><p>“Do you want to frag?” Those scarlet optics are watching him closely. </p><p>“I might… I…. I have political concerns.” Optimus finishes lamely. </p><p>“Well, it’s up to you,” says Megatron. He settles down against the cave floor, propping one leg up on a slab of ice. “My projections don’t show us getting off this scrap-heap for at least a kilo-cycle. I’m sure we can find some way of avoiding… political concerns, between us.” </p><p>Optimus considers. </p><p>Megatron looks away. “I’m saying it doesn’t have to mean anything.”</p><p>“Yes, I know, I got that, I’m just thinking.” </p><p>“I see,” says Megatron, looking suddenly sly. “I assure you, I can guarantee that you’ll have a good time.” </p><p>“Well, we all know the value of a Decepticon’s guarantee,” Optimus jokes weakly. He is overwhelmed by a wave of lust so powerful that it makes him dizzy. What is wrong with him? Hadn’t he just thought Megatron was about to kill him? His processor is glitched. It is totally glitched. </p><p>Could it be his familiarity with Megatron that is prompting these feelings? The fact that he has spent countless vorns thinking about him, fighting him, watching every movement, every inch of gleaming metal? </p><p>Or are those just excuses? He groans to himself, rises. The truth is that he wants it. </p><p>“Okay,” he says, and Megatron stands to meet him. “Yes.” </p><p>Megatron’s eyes have gone to slits. </p><p>“You have to say it, Optimus. You have to say you want it.” His lips are so beautiful. Optimus has an involuntary flashback to Megatron lifting him, dangling him on the rocky outcropping. </p><p>Optimus forces himself to look straight into the scarlet. </p><p>“I want you, Megatron. Please frag me.” </p><p>Megatron ex-vents hard and then Optimus is on his back on the ground. Megs’ glossa is light on Optimus’ thighs, lapping at the lubricant there.</p><p>Optimus quivers, unable to stop himself from making sounds. </p><p>Megatron hums into him. His claws skim over his valve and Optimus can’t help panting.  </p><p>The claws dip inside. </p><p>Megatron’s glossa swirls around his anterior node, and Optimus shrieks: it is too much but also not enough, and for several pleasurable minutes he rocks and shakes as Megatron’s claws pump in and out of him, before coming to brace themselves against his hips. </p><p>Megatron’s mouth is at his node, sucking, and Optimus can barely see for lubrication coming out of his optics, his servos clenching on Megatron’s helm. </p><p>He’s squeezing his counterpart’s helm much too hard, enough pressure to injure any one of his Autobots, but Megatron seems to like it. Optimus feels tight and loose all at once, his overload shaking its way through his system. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long it lasts. When the throes subside, his face is buried in one of Megatron’s pauldrons. </p><p>“Megatron,” he mumbles. </p><p>“Yes,” says Megatron, nibbling at the damaged finial. “That’s right.”</p><p>“Megatron,” he repeats, unable to stop himself. </p><p>He blushes, feels Megatron’s well-lubricated spike pressing pleasurably at his valve. </p><p>“Yes?” asks Megatron, placing light kisses all around Optimus' faceplate: on his jaw, on his optics. </p><p>“Yes,” says Optimus. “Yes, please.” </p><p>Megatron slides into him, inch by inch. Optimus gasps, impaled, tries to bury his face in the pauldrons, to escape that searing gaze. </p><p>“Look at me, spark,” says Megatron, a command, and it goes straight to Optimus' core, hitting something deep inside him.</p><p>He pulls Optimus on top of him, rolling them both so easily that Optimus wonders for a moment how he ever walked away from combat intact. A slap rings out and Optimus jerks up automatically, meeting his gaze. Megatron has smacked the protoform on his aft, and the movement of Optimus' recoil spears him deeper on Megs’ spike. </p><p>Megatron convulses as Optimus’ valve clenches around him. He starts to move and a cry rips itself from Optimus’ lips. Megatron’s spike is doing someth— it’s vibrating against his nodes. </p><p>He keeps his optics locked on Megatron’s until the end.</p>
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